In Which Selina Kyle is Felicity's Mother
by RatherAbysmal
Summary: A Selina Kyle is Felicity's mother series. Various one-shots focusing on such a scenario and postulating a past for Felicity. Mostly for humor. And Olicity.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Arrow or DC Comics. It's fanfiction.

A/N: A Selina Kyle is Felicity's mother series. All one-shots because long stories tend to die on me. Plus, I know this type of "who is Felicity's mother" scenario has been done before. This is just my take on it. Olicity will be in the future as this one is written like a prologue. I wish I could apologize for how rough it is but if I spend any longer on trying to fix it, it'll never get posted.

Feedback is nice. It's good to know if there's interest.

* * *

Title: Felicity's Backstory

* * *

For all her words and candidness, Felicity Smoak rarely talked about her family.

It was complicated. Ambiguous. Rocky. Even taxing. But most of all, it was private.

She had a father who bailed on her mom before she was even born. When she was old enough to be curious, a quick net search revealed that he had died in a prison altercation four years after her birth.

Yeah.

It was hard to say whether or not she was disappointed. She had rather mixed feelings about him.

And her mother?

Well, she was her mother.

Selina Kyle was orphaned at a young age, living on the street as a street urchin with quick hands in the slums of Gotham, and had gotten pregnant by her boyfriend at sixteen. She raised her the best way a mother could during trying times; making the most of what she had and ensuring her child was priority number one.

But Selina was also cold, calculating, and callous. She never pampered Felicity and she was strict, having Felicity adhere to a set of rules which left no question as to the consequences if broken. She enforced propriety and a rigorous education, leaving little time to play and explore. She wasn't overly affectionate and had no qualms about critiquing qualities she was not fond of.

It was just unfortunate that Felicity didn't grow up the way she wanted.

She was a good child, yes, but she was too soft and too gentle. She cried too easily. A reprimand from her mother or a cuss word from a peer could prompt tears to well in her big blue eyes. She lacked grace and was extremely clumsy, with both her body and her mind. Despite all of her mother's offensive and defensive lessons, Felicity could never get anywhere more than mediocre, and her social etiquette was trying. She was notoriously bad at following rules—if her mother was a Slytherin, then she was a Ravenclaw with the worst parts of Gryffindor because she was impulsive and thought of her own well-being last. It drove her mother nuts. And yeah, she was also the worst liar. Her mother tried her best but Felicity was too earnest and was a terrible actress.

However, Felicity was smart.

Crazy smart. She excelled academically and was a genius with computers. She could be witty if she slowed herself down and sly if she focused. She had a fondness for acrobatics even if she wasn't very good at it but it made for a good party trick. She also had a thing for speeds and thrills. Don't ask why. There was a reason why she joined the superhero business with ease and she loved it when Oliver flew her out of danger. Maybe it had something to do with growing up in the dark parts of a city like Gotham. Or maybe it had something to do motorcycle her mother tried to hide from her.

Yet for all her curiosity, Felicity never questioned her mother's odd range of expertise.

She never questioned why they were able to move out of the slums to a nice house before she hit puberty.

_She assumed it was a new job._

Or why felines zoned in on her mother like catnip.

_She certainly wasn't going to the first to call her a cat lady._

She never questioned why her mother stayed out all night long or why in a blue moon, she came home with scrapes and bruises.

_She was concerned but her mother getting into a fight wasn't exactly shocking._

Or why her mother seemed unsettled in the presence of Batman, Gotham's own crime-fighting vigilante.

_Granted, that one time, she and a bunch of other girls had been saved by the Bat from trafficking thugs and she was too rattled to think about anything else._

However, when two crazy psychos, infamously known as supervillains Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn from the papers, broke into her house demanding goods from a heist, it was time to pull the blinders and question what the fuck kind of crap her mother was into.

Well, her mother wasn't home but _she was_.

It was to this day she had her odd fashion sense to thank when it came to saving her behind. With a frumpy outfit on, coupled with a tight hair bun, square glasses, and a horrible accent, she masqueraded as a cleaning maid, who after much lengthy and strained conversation, was kicked out of the house.

The two found nothing of course. Selina was nothing if meticulous in her ways but she had been furious. Something had led them here and while the two supervillains assumed they had the wrong lead, it was a huge wake up call. Their safety was not guaranteed, especially in light of her mother's nightly activities. So she sold the house, grabbed Felicity, and went on a year-long trip around the world.

Can you blame her if Felicity, at seventeen, was an angry, indignant bundle of hormones?

All the weird things happening in the past six years? Yeah, that was her mom, thieving and causing mayhem as the Catwoman. No wonder she was worried about Batman, she was the bad guy! Felicity was technically the child of a supervillain! And she hated cats.

Cats were horrible little demons.

And like her mother, had kept this horrible secret from her.

As soon as she turned 18, she applied for college, got into MIT, and proceeded to dorm there on a financial plan because she wanted no part in the stolen money. It was rough but she had skills and had little trouble securing a decent job. Her mother however, had been torn between pride and hurt. Felicity was making her way through life without all the struggles she had but the burned bridge between them had a long ways to go before repair.

It took a long time for Felicity to understand her.

Everything in Selina's life had been gray, her morals and decisions; life on the streets had done that to her; but Felicity was an innocent babe thrust into her arms. She tried her best to make Felicity tough and independent but Felicity was too idealistic and hopeful for a child born in a rough neighborhood. She had been weak and awkward and her mother never knew what to do with her.

It was through an email that Selina revealed the Batman had inspired her to become a vigilante.

Felicity knew her mother obsessed over jewels and all things priceless but with the wealth, she could have brought all the comforts and security a girl like Felicity could need. That revelation brought her a lot of guilt. Her mother had to break the law to ensure Felicity didn't run into trouble every day after school or keep a gun in the drawer when she was home alone.

Slowly, they started correspondence again, through letters, emails, and eventually phone calls. Selina had showed up for her graduation, looking happier than before, and Felicity was relieved to discover that much of her hard feelings had disappeared with time. Felicity had landed a job at Queen Consolidated; she had always wanted to see the west coast, but it took a while to convince her mother that she was not moving away because of her. Selina had moved back to Gotham a year ago, still moonlighting as Catwoman, but stealing from the bad and occasionally helping the good.

A semi-pseudo Robin Hood.

Felicity could live with that.

But she never did understand the reason why her mother continued the vigilante business. Well, until she joined Team Arrow.

Maybe she was her mother's daughter after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Arrow or DC Comics. It's fanfiction.

A/N: Unlike the first one, this is not as serious. I also had more fun writing it. Enjoy.

* * *

Title: In Which the Arrow and Catwoman Meet for the First Time

* * *

Damn it, Oliver Queen was new at this.

He could count the number of times he went on "patrol" on one hand—his priorities were rather set on _the list_, and consequentially, his down time had not yielded much practice. Leaping across rooftops and hanging onto ledges used a set of skills he hadn't learned on Lian Yu nor could he have.

The terrain on the island had been rustic trees and rocky cliffs. Starling however, was full of vertical angles and high rises and people who screamed if they saw you out their window—which was problematic because startled, rational citizens tended to call the police.

Yes, parkour was tricky. Beginners would have started small but Oliver didn't have time for that.

Nor would he have deigned to call himself a _beginner_ because that would imply his skills were less than mediocre and was therefore, more than a smite embarrassing to be called as such.

But really, it all boiled down to his lack of patience.

He had just escaped from Diggle, his pain in the ass new bodyguard, and was sat broodily on the roof of a ten story building in the financial district when he saw her—a slight figure scaling the side of an office building like an inconspicuous shadow.

In a cat suit.

Literally.

Oliver wasn't really surprised. The population of vigilante superheroes had a direct relationship with the population of vigilante supervillains. The newspapers proved as much and judging by the look of this character, Oliver was willing to bet his entire mansion that this woman was up to no good.

Oliver clambered over to the rooftop of the building and fluidly maneuvered himself down to the 22nd floor using a grappling rope. By the time he got to there, the unpromising burglar had spliced a circle out of the window and was doing whatever she was doing inside.

He poked his head in.

There was no sign of her but there were trip wire alarms on either side of him, which she had clearly disarmed. Odd. Most buildings did not have security like this, let alone an office building with floors numbering in the doubles.

He peered into the murky room, lit only by the silvers of streetlight from the blinded windows, and made out a blurred arrangement of desks, chairs, cabinets, and computers. So the woman wasn't after the tech. Files perhaps?

He climbed in nimbly, eyes adjusting to the inky dark as he listened for movement—total silence saved for the soft murmur of late night traffic from the streets below.

Gradually he moved for the door to the hallway and began to stealthily scope room after room. While he was a trained fighter with a long range weapon, he didn't know if the woman had a gun. A simple misstep and even a rookie could take him out with it despite the protection he wore.

Finally he set upon a hallway where the woman in all likelihood went down through. Doors that were electronically locked with codes were left ajar. He wasn't quite sure what she was looking for. From what he could gather, this was a financial consulting firm.

He steeled himself, side stepping past every door until he caught a faint rustle in the one around the bend of the hallway. He swooped around the corner and stopped right before the edge of the door and waited.

There was a long suffering sigh.

"I know you're there, Wannabe Superhero," a lazy voice drawled, sounding very much like a housewife tired with her husband's behavior rather than a crazy lady intent on robbing a poor business to the bone.

Oliver tightened his jaw but he didn't move an inch.

There was another sigh. "Hello! I could hear you coming down the hallway. You walk like an overconfident farm horse."

He whipped himself into the room, arrow taut on his bow and his hood shading his face menacingly.

"Ooh, scary." She was facing him with her hands on her hips and a coy smirk on her lips.

Now that he was closer, he could see that the skin tight suit was made of leather. It pulled over her hair, where two pointy ears sat atop and her eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark goggles. A utility belt hung around her waist with a whip attached on the right.

If Oliver recalled, didn't Gotham City have a criminal just like this, in a catsuit and all? Catwoman, wasn't it? Even if he had been a party boy all those years ago, he at least managed to skim the news once in a while.

"Aren't you a bit far from home?" he asked. He could see an opened safe behind her, empty, and the bag slung across her shoulder looking decidedly heavy. Cat burglar—how original.

She shrugged her shoulders and in the dim light from the hallway window, he could see her nails—no, claws—gleam like pain inducing little fuckers.

"Business called," she intoned. "Besides, I heard a new masked psycho was in town. Wanted to see what all the hype was about." She idly looked him up and down. "The face paint is a nice touch. I know not everybody can afford a decent eye mask nowadays."

Oliver growled. "And a catsuit is any better?"

She shrugged. "It's my thing. Plus it's sexy as fuck." She ran her hands lasciviously down her hips.

Oliver was a little ashamed to admit that his mind went to someplace inappropriate just then. "Give up the contents of the safe now!"

She laughed incredulously. "After all that hard work? Have some semblance of wasted time and effort, Huntsman."

"Give it up or I will make you."

"No way."

Oliver pulled his arrow back a few millimeters back, enough for the string to strain audibly.

She feigned surprise and held her hands up. "Well, are you going to shoot me or am I going to have to wait all night? I have a hair appointment tomorrow and I need to know if I have to cancel."

He let his arrow loose and she sprung away, the shaft sinking deep into the wall behind her.

She eyed the damage appraisingly. "I do love a serious man," she gushed.

With that, she dashed forward, hitting him with a series of kicks and slashes that had him shielding his face, before slinking out the door like a ghost. He ran after her, blood spilling from several cuts on his body. Freaking hell.

Catwoman headed for the window at the end of the hallway, probably figuring that she wouldn't outrun him in the long run.

"Stop right there!" he shouted, yanking an arrow from his quiver.

She turned her head to give him a chastising look. "And let you put one of those arrows through me? Forget it." She leaped onto the sill and opened it. "Come on, Big Boy. Time to let those wings spread and fly."

She jumped out.

Oliver hit the sill and looked out. To the right, he could see her climbing towards the top of the building. He looked down.

"Shit." There would be nothing to catch him if he slipped. He tucked his weapon and climbed out anyway. He wasn't going to let her get away, not when she had the goods and his dignity trailing after her.

He made it about five stories via the window ledges when Catwoman noticed she was still being followed.

"Not bad, Robin Hood but you're not going to catch me at that rate," she hollered down.

"We'll see about that," he mumbled.

Several stories later, he reached the top where Catwoman was perched on a jutting air vent.

She clapped slowly. "And he's made it! He's not going to be breaking records anytime soon but he definitely gets an A for effort!"

Oliver rushed at her with his fists out. He made not have the ability of a gymnast but he was built like a truck.

She flashed out of his range.

Okay, she had better reflexes than he did too.

"Fiesty," she meowed. She strutted along the edge of the building, unfurling her whip as she did so.

Oliver involuntarily swallowed but took out his weapon as well.

"You're not in the big leagues yet, hot stuff. You should cool down and know when to bow down." She crouched, eyes dark and piercing as they stared into his. "You'll live longer."

He pulled his arrow back.

"Go ahead, shoot. You'll miss."

"I won't." He let go.

She snapped her whip, the crack loud and sharp as she snapped the arrow apart mid flight. He sent another and another.

She tactically maneuvered herself to his blind spot and cracked her whip. It latched onto his bow and she sent it flying over the side of the building. Oliver roared, lurching toward her again. Catwoman snapped the whip onto his calf, sending a searing pain through his leg.

He stumbled but continued forward.

She grinned a wide set of gleaming teeth. "You're something, Big Boy. Most men crumble from pain like that."

Oliver narrowed his eyes. "You don't know what I've been through," he hissed. "What I had to endure."

"We all have our demons," she said derisively, falling into a fighting stance. "Don't assume you're the only one."

"Save the small talk," he growled.

He lunged ahead and landed a solid one to her gut. She grunted but recovered quickly. Oliver figured she must have been wearing a protective fabric of some sort which meant he had to be smart about how he made contact. He decided to attack head on, bearing top heavy maneuvers upon her but she was fast defensively, using her flexibility and small size to her advantage.

"I can see in your eyes that you're new at this," she breathed heavily, dodging a roundhouse kick. "Raw pain? Check. Long suffering grief? Check. All anger and unwanted pity? Check, check, check."

He tried to circle around her but she jerked forward, jabbing his chin with an uppercut. He fell and rolled back onto his good leg but a front kick knocked the air out of his stomach. He stilled. She had the upper hand. If he tried to move, she could easily assault him before he could grapple her form.

Oliver settled for an award worthy glower.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes in the process. "Batman must have neglected to tell me he was giving classes because that's uncanny."

She jumped back onto the ledge, furling her whip as she did so. "If you want to make it through your nightmares, you better find your angels."

"Don't you dare run!" he bellowed. She offered him a loose salute and dropped out of sight. He hurried to the edge and looked down, where the woman swung to the next building with the help of her whip.

"I can't believe it," he growled. His calf burned, his guts were sore, and the scratches she left him were bleeding all into his costume. "Crazy psycho. I knew I fucking hated cats for a reason."

The next time he saw her, he'll be ready.

Only she never appeared in his city again.

He tracked every news report of her but she was back in Gotham, thieving from less savory folks. He hadn't known that—and he didn't trust it—but he investigated the owners of the safe under a different light and discovered that they had ties to a mob in Gotham.

He wrapped that mess up and days later found a note on the rooftop spot where she maimed him, saying thanks and accompanied by a bottle of eye makeup remover.

He dumped the bottle away. He didn't trust her with a ten foot pole.

Making a trip back to Starling just to leave a note? Either she had acquaintances here or she had a legit reason to visit because there were no sightings of such a cat beast since that night.

Oliver could never figure it out, so when he finally acquired teammates, he sought their help.

Diggle laughed in his face. "She owned you!" He slapped his knee. "She handed your ass to you!"

"I'm glad you find it so amusing," Oliver said sarcastically.

He wiped his eye. "I'm sorry. It's just, you were such a stiff back then. I can't imagine early Arrow losing so badly to someone."

"Hey!" he protested, punching the heavy bag a little harder than necessary. "I was new at it!"

Diggle wouldn't let up so he asked Felicity.

He omitted the part where Catwoman wiped the floor with his ass. Felicity appreciated it when the boys left out the bloody details of their missions and well, also because Oliver didn't want her hero-worship of the Arrow to be tarnished by a cat obsessed burglar.

Somehow, she still didn't take it too well.

"What?" Felicity squeaked, blood draining from her face. "You—Catwoman—what?"

"I ran into her when I first started as the Hood. She stole jewels and money from the safe of a business owner with ties to Falcone. We fought, it didn't end well, and she got away."

Felicity rubbed her face with both hands and let out a shaky breath. "So you want me to what? Look her up? Find all the deets on her? Invite her over for a rematch?"

He crossed his arms and frowned. "When you put it that way, it sounds petty. I just want to know if she presents a threat to Starling."

"Well, she doesn't."

He raised an eyebrow. "And you know that how?"

Felicity bit her lip, which as he learned, was a nervous habit of hers. "Because she preys on Gotham, not Starling. As you just told me, she robbed the safe because of Falcone."

"I'm beginning to get the feeling that you know more than I do…"

She shook her head resolutely. "No, no. Just um—you know what? I'll humor you. I'll do what I can about Catwoman and let you know if anything fishy comes up."

"No pun intended?" Oliver jested. Forgive his poor taste but Felicity was looking more frazzled than usual.

"Ha, ha," she said dryly. Then cautiously, "She didn't hurt you, did she?"

"Just my pride." He wasn't going to admit the gash on his leg burned for days afterward.

"Oh." It was a tight, clipped response, her mood taking a visible plunge as she turned back to her computer.

Then again, he wasn't always the best liar when it came to her.

"Did you hurt her?" she asked after a hesitant pause. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, her full focus on him and not on the foreign coding program she had displayed on the screen. She looked concerned but Oliver, thrown off by her demeanor, viscerally sought a way to placate her rather than overcomplicate her compassion.

He placed a hand gingerly on the back of her chair. He considered lying but it wasn't the way he did things anymore. This was his team. "I landed a few good hits but she came out of the fight in a much better condition than I did. It was playground fight. Not the serious ones you sometimes see me in."

She searched his eyes for sincerity and smiled. "Okay," she sighed, then blinked and backtracked. "I mean, not good that she got away but at least no one was seriously hurt, because that would be bad."

"Yes, bad…"

His IT girl seemed a bit out of character but he didn't question it.

His files on Catwoman showed up on his lab table the next day with a sticky note on top:

_As you can see, she's not really a criminal anymore. I like to believe people can change for the better and we should give second chances. If you ever see her again, I suggest offering a truce (but keep your armguards up just in case)._


End file.
